by R. E. Carr
“Oh, how about your one true love ending up in a bag, then transferred into a new body and you haven’t even been able to tell him that not only you’re pregnant with a little werewolf, but that apparently he was knocked up too and now you’ve got a vampire bun in the oven? That old chestnut in there, Gail?”
Gail blinked a few times. She pointed to Paige. “You mean . . ? I mean - are you sure?”
“Anything in the sheriff’s helpful notes on that one? I guess Kyle hadn’t gotten you up to speed.”
“No, no he didn’t,” Gail said, slowly getting up. “Maybe I should do some more research. Lorcan . . . was a she . . .”
“At the time. Did Javier forget to mention that vampires are hermaphrodites? Ouch.”
Gail kept her back to Paige. “Maybe you should stick around the lab tonight. Have the others look for Lorcan. Just until we can run some more tests, you know. This certainly changes things.”
Paige frowned. “I guess you’re right. Hey, you knew Jonathan - at least a little, right? If you were him, and you got away from Javier. Where would you go?” she asked.
“I don’t know, wherever you could get the best cheap beer and tacos? I’m sorry, my memory just isn’t that great. Excuse me,” Gail said, rushing out of the break room.
Paige furrowed her brows. The moment Gail left the room, Paige saw a flicker out of the corner of her eye. She turned, but there was only a flash of green in the door handle.
Paige padded her way to the lab. “I know what I should do,” she muttered to herself. “I know what a smart little werewolf should do.”
“Hey,” she heard behind her. A downtrodden Steven J. DeMarco shuffled through the back door. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders slumped.
“Where have you been?” Paige asked.
“Drinking . . . drunk people. What? You guys couldn’t make it two hours without needing your quicker picker-upper?” he asked bitterly. “Well, maybe I’m sick of just being—”
“You want to go to some more bars, Steve?” she asked flatly.
“I need a drink,” Georgia muttered. She wandered back into the lab side of the clinic, steeling herself for whomever might be frantically waiting for her in the middle of the night after her long walk around the parking lot.
She peeked into the lab and saw werewolves all looking at screens, muttering search patterns, and searching for a black van through various channels. Kyle remained aloof, scratching notes and staring at numbers.
“No Steve,” she sighed with relief. Her relief faded as Gail stepped into the hall. She looked for an escape route.
“Hey, where is Steve?” Gail asked before Georgia could duck away.
“I’m doing my best to avoid him, thank you very much,” Georgia replied quickly. “Now I should—”
“There is something I need to tell you. Can we talk? It’s important.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
Gail led Georgia to the break room. The goth guy, Milton, all but genuflected as he saw Gail. She dismissed him awkwardly. “Still getting used to that,” she confessed as the pair settled at the first table. Georgia swooned as a wave of dizziness overtook her. Gail immediately got her some water. “You really shouldn’t push yourself too much. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” Georgia said, rubbing her head. “Just what do you have to tell me?”
“I made a mistake, a terrible mistake,” Gail confessed. “I misread some of the results of your blood tests, and then Kyle . . . he discovered something.”
“So did Steve . . .” Georgia stammered, her eyes widening. “Did he, you know?”
Gail shook her head. “I didn’t know people could have an allergic reaction to vampire miasma. I’m so sorry.”
“He was telling the truth,” Georgia whispered. She grabbed her phone but Gail actually grabbed her hand and stopped her. “What?” Georgia asked, jerking away with more force than she intended. Dizziness washed over her again.
“There is something else you need to know,” Gail tried to say, but Georgia was too busy muttering to himself.
“That’s impossible, I couldn’t possibly have feelings for Steve . . . could I?” she asked herself, horrified.
“Wait, what?” Gail asked, raising a brow. “I don’t remember everything but, don’t you love that Ren guy who is now . . .”
“Oh god, the nightmare has finally happened,” Georgia whispered, still in her own little universe. “Did I . . . even for an instant . . . fall in love with Steve? Is that why I’m avoiding him now? No. No, this is just exhaustion and blood loss talking. That’s a thing, right?”
Georgia grabbed her head. Gail rushed to her side and took her pulse, but before she could say anything else, the werewolves rushed into the room. “Have you guys seen Paige or Steve?” Kyle asked frantically. “The rental car is missing, and there was an APB near the airport for a suspect in what was described as ‘beheadings by a Japanese sword’.”
“Kevin!” Gail exclaimed.
“It gets worse, there is an unexplained mass power outage in the same area of the attack,” Toy added. “Either Highlander is real—”
“Or Javier put up a fight,” Gail finished. “We need to find everyone. We need to run—”
“Already planning it,” Nadia growled. “You with us, or you want to go after your bloodsucker boyfriend?”
Gail looked torn for moment. Finally she choked out, “I’m with you.”
“We’ve got to find the DeMarcos!” Georgia exclaimed. Her head pounded again. “Something is wrong.”
“Look, Georgia is still recovering. She can’t go with Kevin and Javier out there,” Gail said.
“We’re not splitting up anymore,” Kyle said.
“I’ll have Milton drive us to meet Maria. We can hole up at the hotel until you either grab us or tell us to flee somewhere. It’s a hell of a lot more sensible than putting Georgia in the line of fire.”
“And what if Javier comes for you?” Toy asked.
“Then Georgia will call you. She’s weak, not helpless,” Gail snapped. “Now do we want to keep arguing, or get moving?”
“All right, but if anything weird happens,” Kyle said, looking at them both.
Georgia held up her phone. “I’ll call.”
“Why don’t you just call her?” Paige asked, as she drove past a bunch of dive bars and strip joints in her quest to find the very worst parts of Nashville.
“She made it pretty clear she did not want to talk to me, Pip,” Steve said, staring out the passenger window with a supremely forlorn expression. “I mean, I finally told her how I really felt, and it went exactly as terrible as I predicted.”
Paige kept an eye out for any sort of sign while Steve continued to moan. “You know, maybe if vampires and werewolves are real, curses are real too. Maybe our family pissed off some gypsies a long time ago,” he muttered. “By the way, where are we going?”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are curses and destiny and shit,” Paige replied. “Lorcan always went on and on about fate and all that crap. Well . . . tonight, I’m taking a chance that he’s right. I’m putting my faith in fate for once.”
Steve raised a brow. “Fate? How?”
“If we’re destined to be together, then I’ll just find him,” she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “And here is as good place as any to start.”
She turned into a particularly hideous-looking western-themed restaurant with a Jolly Roger flag flying over the neon sign. “The Salty Southern Dog, a faithful pirate and cowboy saloon?” Steve read incredulously.
“What do you always say fate is, Lorcan?” she asked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She then turned to Steve. “Come on, it looks so horrible, it has to be fun.”
“Why did I agree to go out drinking with my pregnant great-granddaughter again?”
“Because we’re DeMarcos, and we have the worst ideas ever.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Steve said with a sigh.
B
oth of them stopped cold to take in the uniquely-tacky fusion of honky-tonk and the high seas. The waitresses stomped about in boots and bandanas, while a group line-danced on the main dance floor. Steve and Paige ended up tucked under a pair of crossed cutlasses, while a stuffed parrot in a cowboy hat stared judgmentally down at them.
“Still, I’m not just going to be a sad sack and sob about all my problems,” Steve explained as he sat down. “I have dignity.”
Three shots of tequila later and Steve was slumped over the table, shaking his head over and over. Paige rubbed his shoulders and let him sob it out.
“It’s not that I’m totally pathetic,” he wailed. “It’s that Ren is just better than me at everything. He’s Japanese and he’s taller . . . and he has the hair, and the eyes, and the badass tattoos. He’s smarter than me - and probably better in bed. Hell, he becomes a vampire and he’s the damn king. I’m a laughingstock so of course she loves him.”
“You know, you have some positive qualities too, Steve—’
“Like what? I’m just the jerk she dumped for his servant. I told her I loved her, and my timing was awful.”
“Well, yeah - she’s been through a lot. You know, for a guy who has forever, you’re kinda impatient, Steve,” Paige said softly. “Just give her some time. Maybe she’ll figure out that you’re actually a kind, sweet—”
He buried his face in his hands. “Kind and sweet never wins the girl.”
“Sure it does—”
Steve stared through his fingers at her. “Really?” he asked flatly. “So, the first word you’d use to describe Lorcan Pendragon, lord of the brooding wastes . . . is sweet?”
“I’ve dated nice guys.”
“An OCD werewolf qualifies as nice?”
“Um—”
“What about that asshole chef that cheated on you?”
“Steve!” She ordered him another round and got a ginger ale for herself. “I might have a bad history, but Georgia is different.”
“She only slept with me when I was a stupidly rich asshole. Now I don’t even have that. Hell, I only got laid when I was alive because I lied and said I was in the mob, and then Jeanette thought I was heading off to my death—”
“Please, please don’t be drunk enough to be telling the story about how you banged my great-Grandma. I have enough nausea in my life as it is. Oh dear, is that “Achy Breaky Heart” on now?”
“I have no idea what that is,” Steve sighed. “Damn it, this is supposed to be your night.”
“It’s ridiculous. There is no fate. There is no destiny. I just had a stupid idea, and hoped that maybe being around someone even more miserable than me would help. I mean look at this place. Where is the last place on earth you’d expect Lorcan to show up?”
“I dunno - in the middle of a country dance line, wearing a cowboy hat and a plaid shirt, perhaps?” Steve said, staring over Paige’s shoulder.
“Exact—” she trailed off as Steve pointed a finger at the dance floor. She turned slowly and her jaw dropped.
There he was, gyrating back and forth in the middle of a line, a huge grin on his face and a black cowboy hat on his head. Steve rubbed his eyes. “I can never, ever . . .”
“Unsee this,” Paige finished as she eased to her feet. “Chalk one up to fate, I guess.”
Steve grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna go dance.”
“Do you think you should . . . in your condition?”
“I’m pregnant, not dead.”
“No . . . I mean with legs still healing.”
Paige just waved the other DeMarco away. “I’ve got to talk to him, and don’t worry, I’m just gonna sway a little and get his attention.”
She let out a deep breath and steadied herself before moseying toward the line. Jonathan shook his head slowly and whistled as she approached. “So you’re the one that finally found me,” he said, not skipping a beat in the routine. Paige had to quickly shuffle to the right to face him again.
“Can we just talk?”
“I came here to drink and to dance. After everything that’s happened, I think I’ve earned it, so you can either step aside, or help me finish this song.”
“I’m not really at my best,” Paige explained, even as she gave a menacing growl to the blonde giving goo-goo eyes at Jonathan. She cut into the line and kept up pretty well despite her healing injuries. As soon as the song ended, Jonathan gave her another whistle.
“Damn, you have two tiny little fingers now. That is pretty fucking impressive, if I do say so myself.”
The song changed over to a slower number. He grabbed her arm before she could slip away. “I told you, I’m here to drink, and to dance, so if you wanna talk—”
She leaned against him. From this distance, the stench of cheap beer was overwhelming. “Lorcan—” she started. He tipped her chin up so she could get a good look at him. His stubble and hair had been trimmed back to their camera-ready length, but she could just see the tips of some mighty impressive fangs curling under his lip.
“First off, babe - the name is Jonathan. Jon if that’s too many syllables, and J.D. if you really just wanna piss me off, OK? I don’t know who this Lorcan is, but I ain’t him.”
“All right . . . Jonathan,” she said, swaying next to him. “How did you get away from Javier?”
“Javier? The asshole who stole my girlfriend . . . or was she more? I think he slept with my wife actually. I don’t really remember who she was, but I get the impression, I was married. Anyway, I punched him.”
“You punched . . . Javier and escaped?”
“Oh no, that just made him mad, but then this huge guy showed up and they began having an epic vampire fight. I stole the car while they were distracted. I figured one of them would eventually win and show up, but until then, I thought I’d have a good time. This face don’t pay for too many drinks after all.”
“You escaped from a vampire fight . . . and then decided to go line dancing?”
“Oh no, the Mexican asshole and I were already planning to go line dancing before the fight. I figured he was busy, and I might as well get started until he either joined me, or the big guy came looking for me.”
“But you punched him . . . and he slept with your wife?”
“I think it was my ex-wife. Damn, as weird as it sounds, I kinda hate the guy, but I also love him. You know, he’s like that annoying little brother you like to kick the shit out of, but you can’t help but like him too. He’s hilarious, and he took me away from a bunch of crazy furballs plotting to dissect me or something. Not sure what’s going on.”
“We weren’t going to dissect you. We’re trying to help you!” Paige protested. Jonathan laughed.
“Oh sure,” he said. “Cause you think I’m this Lorcan thing.”
“You are Lorcan.”
Jonathan laughed. “That redheaded asshole stabbed me, didn’t he? Big sword, right through the chest?”
“No! That’s Kyle. You’re confusing him with Arthur. They just look alike.”
“Well that’s a relief. I remember hating a guy named Arthur once, but I totally banged his wife,” Jonathan said, with a little snort. He then stared in confusion at Paige. “Didn’t you used to have long, fluffy hair?”
“It changes.”
“Your boobs got fluffier though,” he said, giving her chest an appreciative stare. “Me likey.”
“Ass,” she barked, slapping him across the face.
He cocked his head. “Do I know you? I feel like I know you. Oh man, you’re that werewolf I was supposed to kill. The one that . . . that . . .”
Paige didn’t wait for him to finish. She stormed back toward the gobsmacked Steve.
“Hey, Erin!” Jonathan called after her. She turned slowly and raised an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?” Paige asked. “What did you just say?”
Jonathan took a few tentative steps toward her. “Is your real name . . . Erin, or something like that? ‘Cause that
’s the first thing I thought of when I saw you.”
“My name is Paige,” she said flatly. “Lorcan just used to call me . . .”
“Erin?” Jonathan offered again in his rather thick southern drawl.
“A rún,” Paige said, her heart skipping a beat. “His nickname for me was A rún.”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
Paige turned away and rushed as fast as she could toward Steve. Jonathan followed and plopped down right next to her before ordering another beer. He looked at Steve and snorted. “So, is this the guy you’re blowing me off for? You can do better, babe. Seriously . . . even with the GI Jane look.”
Steve and Paige looked at each other in horror. “We’re not . . . no . . .” Steve stammered.
Jonathan eyed their same puppyish brown eyes and curls. “We’re related,” Paige said flatly. “Still.”
“Oh, yeah . . . totally see that now. Sorry dude, didn’t mean to imply you were banging your sister.”
Paige just shook her head, as Steve tried to protest further. Jonathan stared at her with a faraway smile. “I really feel like I’m forgetting something,” he said. “Damn, are you guys hungry? I’m starving!”
Before they could reply, the rather manic Jonathan had ordered nachos and more beers for everyone. Paige buried her face in her palm. “What, you don’t like nachos?” he asked.
“I can’t have the beer,” Paige sighed.
“More for me. Alright, so now that we are all together . . . hey, do you owe me money?” he asked Steve. “I feel like you owe me money.”
“No, I don’t owe you money,” Steve said. “Lor . . . err Jonathan, you do know what you are, don’t you?”
“Yeah, starving . . . all the time,” he said, grinning widely as a plate full of obviously processed cheese was plopped in front of him. “Yes, jalapenos!”
“Jesus, man!” Steve said, as Jonathan chugged a whole beer and shoveled the chips into his mouth in minutes. Jonathan then gulped down Paige’s as well.
“Thirsty as hell too,” Jonathan said, wiping his mouth. “No matter what I drink, I still want more.”
“You’re a vampire, damn it,” Steve hissed. “You need blood.”